Frank Rzucek sits quietly in his North Carolina home, staring at a framed photo of his daughter Shanann smiling with her two little girls. At 68, he thought the worst pain of his life came on August 13, 2018, when he learned Shanann, 34, along with Bella, 4, and Celeste, 3, had been brutally murdered. He was wrong. Seven years later, the man who lost everything says the nightmare never ended – because complete strangers on the internet won’t let it.

“I wake up every single day to messages calling me a liar, a bad father, even saying I helped cover it up,” Frank tells me in an exclusive interview, his voice cracking. “They tag me in videos accusing me of things I can’t even repeat. I’m just a grandpa who misses his daughter and grandbabies. Why won’t they leave me alone?”

What started as true-crime curiosity has spiraled into relentless cyberbullying that targets not just Shanann’s memory, but her grieving father in ways most people can’t imagine.

The Messages That Keep Him Up at Night

Frank opens his phone and scrolls through a private Facebook message folder he calls “the hate box.” Within minutes, new notifications pop up. One reads: “Your daughter was a scam artist and you know it. Stop playing victim.” Another: “If you were a real man you’d admit the truth about what really happened.” Some include photoshopped images of Shanann’s autopsy photos with cruel captions. Others threaten to show up at his doorstep.

“It used to be dozens a week,” he says. “Now it’s dozens a day. These people have nothing better to do than dig into my life. They find my address, my phone number, even where I buy my coffee.”

The harassment peaked last month when a popular YouTube channel with over 300,000 subscribers released a 45-minute video titled “Shanann’s Dad Is Hiding Something BIG.” Within hours, Frank’s inbox exploded. Strangers called his landline at 3 a.m. One woman left a voicemail sobbing, accusing him of “letting Chris get away with it.” Another man screamed that Frank should “join his daughter in the oil tanks.”

From Grief to Target

When Chris Watts confessed to strangling Shanann and smothering their daughters in 2018, the case shocked the world. Documentaries, podcasts, and Netflix specials turned the tragedy into content. Millions watched. Thousands became obsessed. A corner of the internet decided the official story wasn’t dramatic enough – so they invented their own.

Conspiracy theorists claim Shanann was abusive, a pyramid-scheme mastermind, or even alive in hiding. Frank became collateral damage. Because he has quietly defended his daughter’s character in rare interviews, he’s labeled “suspicious” and “defensive.” Every word he says is dissected. Every tear questioned.

“They say I don’t cry enough in interviews, then turn around and say I’m faking tears,” Frank shakes his head. “I can’t win. I stopped doing interviews years ago because it only made things worse, but that made them say I’m ‘hiding.’ Damned if I do, damned if I don’t.”

The Grandbabies They Never Let Rest

Perhaps the cruelest attacks involve Bella and Celeste. Online sleuths post slow-motion clips of home videos, claiming the girls show “signs of abuse” in the way they smile or hug their mother. Others insist the children are still alive, sending Frank blurry photos of random little girls at Walmart with messages: “Found your granddaughters!”

“I had to stop looking at their pictures,” Frank admits, eyes welling up. “Every time I see Bella’s little ponytail or CeCe’s dimples, I smile for a second – then remember strangers are using those same photos to hurt me. It feels like they’re killing my family all over again.”

A Normal Life Destroyed

Before 2018, Frank was a retired mechanic who loved fishing and spoiling his grandkids. Now he rarely leaves home. He deleted his personal Facebook years ago but trolls create fake accounts pretending to be him. They’ve doxxed his neighbors, accusing them of “protecting a guilty family.” One neighbor found dog feces smeared on her car after refusing to answer questions about Frank.

His health has suffered too. Chronic anxiety keeps him awake. Blood pressure medication barely helps. Doctors told him stress is literally breaking his heart.

“I’m 68 years old,” he says. “I should be enjoying retirement, maybe traveling to places Shanann always wanted to visit. Instead I’m scared to check my phone.”

Why Won’t It Stop?

True-crime creators insist they’re “seeking justice” or “asking questions.” But Frank sees it differently. “My daughter’s killer is in prison for the rest of his life. The case is solved. There is no mystery. They just want views, likes, and Patreon subscribers. And they’ll step on a grieving father to get them.”

Some creators have privately apologized after Frank’s friends reached out, but most double down. One prominent YouTuber responded to complaints by making another video: “Why Shanann’s Dad Doesn’t Want You To Know This.”

A Plea to the Internet

For the first time in years, Frank is speaking out – not for attention, but in hopes someone listens.

“To every person sending me hate: You didn’t know my daughter. You didn’t hold Bella when she had nightmares. You didn’t watch Celeste dance in her princess dress. You don’t know what it’s like to bury your child and grandchildren in one week. Please, I’m begging you – stop. Let us grieve in peace.”

He has a simple request for platforms: “Make them use their real names. These cowards hide behind fake profiles. If they had to attach their real face to these messages, 99% would disappear.”

Still Holding On to Love

Despite everything, Frank keeps a small light burning. Every August 13, he releases three balloons – pink for Shanann, purple for Bella, yellow for Celeste. He visits their graves alone, bringing fresh flowers and reading them the cards he writes every month.

“I tell them about the good memories,” he smiles faintly. “How Bella loved unicorns. How CeCe would steal my hat and run away giggling. How Shanann called me every single night just to say goodnight. Those are the real stories. Not the garbage online.”

As we finish talking, another notification pings. Frank sighs but doesn’t check it. “Seven years,” he whispers. “You’d think people would get tired. But they don’t.”

He looks directly into my eyes with quiet strength: “I won’t let them win. I’ll keep loving my girls out loud, no matter how much they hate it. That’s the only revenge I need.”

If you’ve ever wondered what happens to families long after the cameras leave and the documentaries end, Frank Rzucek is living proof: for some, the suffering never stops. And tonight, somewhere in North Carolina, a heartbroken father will go to bed praying tomorrow brings fewer messages, fewer threats, and maybe – just maybe – a tiny bit of peace.